Wolf Hunt
by SillastraDragontongue
Summary: Sam and Dean meet a bloody and battered girl asking for their help in finding her lover, who has been taken by a pack of werewolves. On the way, they find that she's not exactly what she seems. OC, no Mary Sue. Chap 6!
1. Chapter 1

A/N: I don't own any of the characters aside from my own (i.e., Chandre and Shi), and Dean and Sam won't be appearing for another couple of chapters. Have to set the scene and all. Hope you enjoy the story and please, please, please review! This is my first Supernatural fic, and I want to know if it's any good.

Long strands of lichen hanging from the leafless trees shimmered as rays of moonlight penetrated their fragile bodies, giving them a timeless, ethereal look that seemed extremely creepy in the coldness of the winter night. Especially in the middle of a forest that itself was located near the middle of nowhere.

Chandre shivered, clutching her coat tighter about her as she glanced up at the full moon. The fire crackled before her, fading away fast as it greedily consumed the last remains of the wood, and she really didn't feel like venturing out of its comforting circle. Nervously, she patted the sword that lay almost underneath her sleeping bag. While it seemed fairly antiquated compared to the stopping power of her .38, she trusted the watery runes that were etched onto the blade above and beyond a crummy pistol. The sword wasn't made of silver, and neither were her bullets, but she had a pretty good feeling that her sword could cut through wolves.

And Shi wasn't back yet.

A low howl wound its way through the trees, rising up into the forest, and she jumped. Sweat trickled down her back, only to freeze there in icy rivulets. Slowly, trying not to make any sound, she slithered out of the sleeping bag, and drew her sword from its battered leather scabbard, only to slide it back in. She didn't want it sticking.

The fire got even lower, and there was another howl. A twig snapped, just behind her, and she whirled, catching red eyes reflecting off the firelight before it turned away. Quietly she drew her sword in her right hand, and with her left slid her .38 from its shoulder holster. Where was Shi?

She felt alone and exposed in the center of the clearing, with the fire reducing her eyesight considerably, even though she knew she could see better than Shi. Or any wolf, for that matter.

A growl, and she turned again, on her heel, gun instantly pointing in the direction. Then a man-shaped presence peeled away from the forest, and she pointed the gun, lowering it only after she saw the familiar blond hair.

Shi ambled into the clearing, naked as the day he was born, muscles taut and rippling as he walked towards her, a huge grin on his face. He seemed impervious to the cold.

"Damn you," she muttered, lowering the gun. "Do you have to play pranks on me? We're in the middle of a fucking forest at the full moon!"

His grin broadened. "Scared you, huh?"

"Fuck you."

He bent down at his knapsack, rummaging through his clothes. "Kiddo, I am the most dangerous thing in these woods tonight."

"What about me?"

His head rose, and maybe it was the way the shadows and light of the fire fell on his face, or the moon reflecting off his grey eyes, but something alien flashed there. She shivered again, not entirely from the cold. "The moon's not completely full," he said cryptically, and pulled a shirt over his head.

"Looks full to me."

"Tomorrow is the full moon." She didn't argue. He'd know. Watching him dress, she holstered the gun and laid the sword on top of her sleeping bag.

"Nice run?"

"Refreshing." He finished lacing up his boots and stood up to hug her tightly. "I wish you could come."

She laughed, and nibbled at his ear. "I don't want to be doggie treats."

He snorted, and ducked his head to kiss her jaw. Between kisses, he murmured, "I have enough control to stop from eating you. Come on, please? I bet I can give you a run for your money now, kiddo."

"I don't want those predator-prey things to kick in," she teased. Pulling away, she asked, "How come your eyes were red a moment ago?"

"Huh?" He stared down at her from his lofty inch. "What do you mean? I just got here."

"You mean you weren't running around the fire scaring me to death?"

His face paled beneath its tan. "No. I Changed and got here." His arms tensed about her, and he sniffed, while she reached out with her mind, and came up with nothing.

"Fuck," he swore, softly, and moved away from her.

She sensed something, both in her mind and like prickles in between her shoulder blades. Whatever it was, was behind her, or close. Carefully she bent down to pick up her sword, and Shi shucked off his pants and boots, standing there only in his shirt.

The air was utterly still as they listened, the forest silent. Even the insects had stilled. Something was definitely in the woods with them. Chandre caught movement out of the corner of her eye, but didn't turn to face it. She could hear it well enough, the soft noises of a predator lurking in the bushes around them.

Shi's head swiveled suddenly, and his lips curled up to bare teeth that were pointier than usual. A wolf stalked into the clearing, growling, and Shi snarled back at it, warning it away as his body rippled with the Change.

Chandre edged closer to him, drawing her gun to protect him in the vulnerable moments of Change, and he shucked off his shirt, letting it drop to the ground. She kept her eyes off him, although bones crunched and a soft moan came from his lips as the Change ripped through his body, faster and easier this close to the full moon.

The black wolf before them stared, then growled, and more wolves entered the clearing. They were too big to be real wolves, their legs and muzzles too long, their eyes too intelligent.

A clawed hand touched her shoulder, but it was only Shi in his half-form. Before her eyes the huge black wolf began to Change, growing taller, until he stopped in his half-form, broad shoulders laced with old scars.

"What are you doing in these woods?" he rasped, glaring at Shi.

Chandre was feeling particularly vulnerable among these wolves, which hadn't changed to their half-forms to follow their leader. Her grip on the sword tightened, but she kept her breath steady, knowing that they could sense fear better than most creatures.

"We're camping," Shi said, his voice lower and a touch slurred because of his fangs and longer tongue. "And we mean you no harm, so if you could leave us—"

"Enough," snapped the leader. "Who are you, ypric?" _Challenger_, Chandre thought that meant.

"Striker," Shi replied. They wouldn't be going by their real names here, not until they got home.

"And the meat-girl?" Chandre bristled at being called that, and at the derision in the leader's voice. She may not be a wolf, but she wasn't weak.

"Scarlet."

"Where's your Pack, Striker?"

Shi wrapped an arm about Chandre's waist, tipping his chin towards the leader with a smug sneer. "This is my Pack." There were howls of laughter from the other wolves.

The lead wolf stepped forwards. "Ypric, you have trespassed." All of the mirth leeched out of the clearing, leaving only growling wolves.

Shi stiffened. "Kiddo," he murmured, "there's only two ways to get out of this. Fight them all, or fight the leader."

"Either way, I'm going to get hurt." He nodded, keeping his eyes on the leader. She knew that she was good, but she wasn't good enough to fight off twenty wolves that were at least five times stronger than her.

"You have to run."

"Run?" Of course. Against twenty wolves? Shit.

"I'll catch up with you." Hopefully. "Stay in Cains, and I'll find you."

"Right."

He switched languages suddenly, moving to her native language. "There's a river two miles northwest. There're some rocks that span across it, but they're slick."

"I've got my gun and some extra clips with the silver."

The wolves growled, and Shi looked up. "I will fight you, Ulfric," Shi announced, and a gasp rang up through the clearing. The leader looked at him, and laughed.

Chandre broke away and grabbed her scabbard, looping it across her shoulders. With a fluid motion she sheathed her sword. Everything else was ready. She'd have to leave the backpack, but she didn't really need anything in there anyways. The only thing she liked to keep track of was her sword. It was the only thing that really belonged to her. Shi hadn't taken his with, so she wouldn't be burdened down with that.

"You'll fight me, ypric?" the leader barked, hiding a laugh. Chandre eyed the two men. Shi looked small compared to the much larger man, even though he was a good six feet in height. The leader's muscles were roped and thick, and his legs and jaw were powerful. Thick black fur sprouted everywhere, broken up in spots by heavy scarring. This creature had seen lots and lots of combat, and judging from the mass of purple scars at his throat, his was very hard to kill.

Shi, on the other hand, looked tiny. He was nowhere near as broad, and while he stood with confidence, there was a newness that seeped through his golden fur, and there were no scars. At least, no large scars. Chandre knew that he had an entry and exit wound just under his ribs on the left side, from an armor-piercing round, and there was another bullet wound on his right leg, just above his thigh. That one had shattered the femur. But those were the only two major scars, and they were barely visible. Shi might have been an Alpha, but he was nowhere near as experienced as the leader, who must have been Were for over twenty years. Shi had only been Turned four months ago.

"On the condition that you give Scarlet a twenty minute head start before your wolves attack her," Shi said.

"Twenty minutes? Slow creature," the leader spat, but he eyed Chandre up and down. "Five."

"Fifteen."

"Eight."

"Ten."

"Five."

Shi shrugged. "Very well, five." Chandre blinked at him, pretending nervousness. In five minutes she'd be long gone.

The leader stepped forwards. "I'll see you dead, _Striker._" He stared at Chandre. "You're time's almost up, meat-girl. Get."

Chandre cast one look back at Shi, and took off, twigs snapping underneath her feet. She had just reached the edge of the clearing when the leader attacked her partner, and they rolled to the ground in a tangle of fur. 


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Only one review so far :( Oh well, here's the next chapter, and I hope you like it. Please comment if you enjoy, don't like, or otherwise, because I like hearing people's opinions! Once again, no Dean or Sam, but they're coming, I promise!

The thick underbrush pulled her back, leaves and branches smacking into her face and neck as she charged through the forest, running as fast as she could. Her sword smacked against her back with each step, but she ignored it and kept running. To stop meant to be torn apart by the group of wolves that were slowly but steadily gaining on her.

She had been running for ten minutes already, and her breath was ragged, but she was far from spent. She could run for half a day at a steady lope, and this full-out sprint could last for an hour. Hopefully she'd reach a safe haven before that.

A howl sounded behind her, fairly close. They were getting closer. Her heart raced, and her legs beat faster. A fallen log rose up in her path and she jumped it, tripping and falling flat on her face several steps afterwards from a covered root. Rolling to her feet, she yelped as another howl sounded more to her right, much closer. They had her scent, and now it was bloody. Her hands stung, but it was no time to stop.

They didn't catch her for another five minutes, and the forest began to clear out. She could hear the rush of water up ahead, and pushed herself faster.

The river spanned towards her, the white-water rapids clear even at night, and she skidded to a halt, gasping for breath. Two more howls—they sensed that she was trapped. The river was too deep to ford, and if she jumped in it would sweep her under and crush her against the rocks.

Her eyes spotted the upraised rocks Shi had mentioned, and she jumped for the closest as the first wolf melted out of the trees. The rock was slick with algae, but she managed to keep her balance, and jumped for the next and the next, hardly slowly down.

The water rushed about her, the spray hitting her face and drenching her from the waist down, but she finally reached the bank and turned to see the wolves not far behind. A normal wolf would have stopped, but the werewolves plunged right after her, moving faster than she had, only paces behind.

Quickly she dug out her gun and clicked off the safety, firing rapidly into the skull of the nearest wolf. Its brains exploded and it reared back from the impact, body jerking as it fell into the river. She was firing at the next wolf, hitting it also square between the eyes. Two shots and it was joining its friend. The other wolves howled at her, tasting the blood in the air and howling their vengeance.

She shot the next two and then holstered the gun and ran, the clip empty. Five wolves raced after her, but the forest was less thick now, and she had room to stretch her legs out. Then again, so did they.

Dark forms closed in on her as she ran, creatures that should never have been able to catch her if she had been unburdened. A dark form tackled her as she reached a shadowy drive, and she crashed to the ground, teeth burying into her shoulder.

Screaming, Chandre flipped out a dagger and stabbed at the wolf, throwing it off her and staggering to her feet as the next wolf lunged. She slashed vainly at its eyes, and it darted away, but not before another wolf lunged behind her and bit her at her thigh, almost slicing her hamstring.

Whirling around, she drew her sword and with a glitter of motion managed to score a deep gash into the side of one of the wolves before they all lunged at her and bore her to the ground, teeth and claws ripping at her. Raising her hands to protect her face, she screamed in alarm, exciting them even more, and tried to punch, kick and maim them as best she could, but her blood was in their mouths and they dug in, feasting on her flesh.

She was falling into unconsciousness, her body jerking and spasming, her throat raw, when a chorus of howls rose up from the way she came. The wolves raised their heads and stared, then left her, torn and bleeding, her guts almost coming out of her stomach.

Groaning in agony, she slowly sat up and pressed her intestines back in, shaking at the sight of so much blood. She was in really bad shape, even for her, but there wasn't a hospital for miles, and the nearest road had to be three miles away. Even if she could reach it, very few people traveled down its dark path.

Then again, she thought, standing up slowly, her legs trembling underneath her, threatening to crumple, she couldn't go to a hospital. They wouldn't let her in.

She found a tree a couple yards off and made her way to it, taking the sword and dagger with her, and managed to barely climb high enough to keep away from wolves before passing out on top of one of the branches.

Her body was stiff and aching, and she woke with a cry of pain, staring down at her stomach. Carefully peeling away her layers of clothing, mindful of the frozen blood, she stared down at the gaping wound. It was slowly knitting back together, but she'd have a nasty scar. At least she had managed to push her guts back in, and hopefully the internal bleeding wasn't too ghastly.

The rest of her wasn't much better off. The bite on her shoulder was deep, and she just hoped that she wasn't missing a chunk, and there were deep claw marks across her chest and back, and her legs were covered in bite marks. Her arms had scratches that went to the bone, and she winced. Those would have to be stitched, or they would never heal without scaring.

Her body screamed at her as she climbed down from the tree, but she managed to reach the ground, pausing to gasp and pant for breath, shaking. Her right hand clenched her stomach, keeping anything from coming out, and she staggered towards the road.

The wolves wouldn't be there in the light, she knew. Most would be home in their beds, far away from her. The others were dead, probably swept against the banks of the river.

The dark form of a wolf lay near where she had been fighting, its limbs askew and bloody everywhere. After she had killed it its friends had attacked it too. Shuddering, she turned and made her way slowly towards where the road would be, her limps stiff in the icy cold.

At least the wolves hadn't bitten off anything, she thought absently as she staggered through the forest, leaving a heavy blood trail behind her. Regrowing anything was a real bitch.

She reached the road two hours later, after many stops and near complete stops, and she collapsed near the side, shaking and dying of thirst.

The sound of an engine reminded her that she still had her sword, and she staggered towards the woods, unstrapping it and hiding it under a bush, hoping that no one would take it or that it wouldn't rain. The blade was spelled against rust, but rain would definitely damage the scabbard.

Giggling at such stupid thoughts, she stared as the car slowed, and the man at the wheel stared at her in shock. He had half a mind to roll down the passenger window and lean over his wheel, eyes as big as a plate.

"Holy shit! Are you okay?" he asked, taking in her bloody clothes and her disheveled appearance. Blood soaked every bit of her clothes, and he knew that he should take her to a hospital, but the thought of what blood would do to his leather interior made him cringe.

"Can I get a ride?" she managed to croak, falling against his car.

"Get in."

She opened the door and practically fell onto the seat, managing to arrange her legs and close the door, not even bothering with the seatbelt. He stared at her. "What happened?"

She shook her head, body shaking as she went into the chills.

"I'll take you to the hospital," he said, and began to speed up. Blood was oozing rather determinedly through her fingers, which she had pressed tightly against her stomach, and her face was deathly pale from the blood loss.

"No!"

He glanced at her, taking his eyes off the winding road for an instant. "You have to get to a doctor. I think you're dying!"

"No," she whispered, weaker. "J-Just get me to a hotel, okay? I-I can't go to . . . hospital."

"All right." Crap, he thought. He'd be late to work. And the boss would never believe this. "I really need to take you to the hospital. If you die . . ."

"Hotel. _Please_," she gasped, shifting her hands to press harder onto her stomach. He caught the side of the butt of a pistol underneath her thick jacket, and his mind reeled. She was armed.

They neared the town, and she hunkered lower into the seat. Reaching the first motel he could find, a cheap run-down one, he asked, "This okay?" She nodded, eyes closed tightly. He pulled up into a parking space. "I'll get a room for you. That fine?" Another nod.

He practically sprinted out of the car, and forced himself to stride slowly through the office. "I'd like to rent a room," he said to the older woman at the counter.

Twenty dollars poorer, he walked out with a key in his hands. The woman was still sitting in the car, looking like she hadn't moved. He handed her the key, cautiously.

"Room 9."

"Thank you," she gasped, and pressed a wad of money into his hands. The bills were sticky with blood, and she staggered out, walking straight into the room without looking back.

Popping his head over the room of the car, the man called, "Are you sure you don't want to go to the hospital?"

She shook her head and stepped inside. Sighing, he popped back in the car and drove off, eyeing the bloodstains. There was not going to be a pretty explanation for that one.

Shi hadn't returned by that night, and she lay in the bare bed, having used the torn sheets as makeshift bandages, waiting for him. He'd find her, probably pretty easily too. She was in Cains, and in the cheapest motel in town, and her blood trail led straight to this room.

Sure, she had cleaned up the doorknob and she hadn't trailed blood on the street, but a werewolf could smell it. They wouldn't be able to smell her in a car, but they could smell cleaned up blood pretty easily.

It was extremely dark outside, with few lights on, and only one other car was parked in the lot. Beyond the lot, the forest stretched, dark and foreboding. The small town of Cains was behind, further down the road.

Sitting up painfully in the bed, she padded her way to where she had dumped her clothes, and dug out her pistol and the spare clips of bullets. Loading it, she placed the gun on the nightstand and slipped a dagger underneath her pillow.

Her stomach gurgled with hunger, and she took another sip of water. She didn't have any food, and her clothes were ruined. At least she was clean, but without food she'd be unable to heal, or her body would kill itself attempting to restore her. Fairly certain that she'd last one night, at least, she closed her eyes and fell into a dreamless sleep, exhausted.

She woke hours before the sun rose, the day still clothed with darkness, and sat up carefully. Picking up the clean make-shift bandages, she gently unwrapped the dirty linen from about her torso and winced at the gaping wound. At least it had stopped gushing blood, although a trickle still oozed forth. She'd have to stitch it up. Rewrapping it, she pulled the comforter about her shoulders and opened the door, poking her head out. The light in the office was closed, and she could see that the super or owner or whatever was out. With luck, there'd be some clothing from past bunkers in a far room. Creeping slowly towards the office, she jimmied the lock and slipped inside, her comforter trailing behind her.

A light was blinking on the message machine of the phone as she disabled the alarm at the side of the door, and walked farther inside. Finding the clothing in a closet towards the end of the building, she grabbed the first clothes that looked about her size and a pair of battered sunglasses from a pile of accessories and left, leaving everything exactly as she had found it and setting the alarm, relocking the door. She might have been severely injured, but old habits died hard.

Back in her room, she dumped the clothes on the floor, locked the door, and collapsed back on the bed, closing her eyes. She was unconscious almost immediately.

Sunlight was peeping through the blinds by the time she woke, and a harsh rapping jarred her sensitive head, sounding like a battering ram at the door. Gathering the heavy blanket about her yet again, she opened the door to see an older woman outside, who looked rather surprised to see her there.

"Oh. I thought a man paid for this room," she said, trying to peer in, but Chandre blocked her view. "Just wanted to let you know that you're not paid up for another night."

"Okay. I'll just pop right over in a little bit and pay up." Her stomach gargled, loudly, and she flushed, but kept her eyes down. "Do you know where a good place for breakfast is?"

The woman eyed her with something like disdain. "You'll be looking for lunch now, miss. We've only got the diner. It's around the corner."

Chandre smiled thinly. "Thanks. I'll be over in a sec." Shutting the door on the woman's face she turned back inside and dressed quickly. Her jacket was ruined, and she didn't have anything other than the shirt she had stolen earlier that day. Thanking everything that it was long sleeved, she gathered her waist-length hair up into a messy bun, slid the sunglasses on and left, trying hard not to limp.

The super was at the front desk in the office, and Chandre opened the door and padded inside silently in her boots. "How long are you planning on staying?" the woman asked.

Chandre leaned against the counter, hoping not to look too drastically ill. "Probably a day or two. How much?"

"Forty for two nights."

Chandre leafed through her pockets and drew out the money, happy to see that at least the bills weren't bloodstained. After asking directions to the local store, she limped her way over to the diner and had a quick meal, noting that she was receiving stares from quite a few people, including one man with a closely trimmed beard. He was around fifty, but in remarkable shape, and he stared at her covertly, casting glances when he thought she wasn't looking. Chandre hoped that no blood was showing through. Finishing up her meal quickly, she got another boxed and set off to the store, wincing in pain as she rose up from her booth.

At the store she bought a cheap sewing kit, alcohol, bandages, some matches and a pack of gum. The lady at the counter stared at her for a moment.

"Do you need some painkillers, hon?" she asked gently as Chandre forked over the cash.

"No thanks. I'm allergic." With a thin smile, she took the bag.

The woman leaned over the counter, and said softly, "It's not my business to pry, but if I were you, I'd dump the bastard."

Chandre's smile got even thinner. "Thank you, ma'am."

It took a lot of willpower to move over to the motel, and she made it, finally. An hour later she managed to finish with the last of the stitches, using the alcohol liberally on both wound and in her mouth. By the time she finished it was nearing dark and she was shaking from the pain. Forcing herself to eat the box of food, she lay down and fell into a restless sleep.

The almost full moon was high overhead when she woke, and quietly she dressed and armed herself with the gun. It would be a long walk back to the woods, but since she didn't really want to steal a car, she'd have to go on foot. She might have promised Shi to wait in Cain, but he also might be in some sort of trouble that he couldn't get himself out of.

Setting off down the road, she shook her head. Shi could have easily taken down the lead wolf. He might have been smaller and a lot lighter, but what he had was pure muscle, and he also had many years of experience with fighting under his belt. He was a black belt of the highest degree in four martial arts, and he knew street fighting with the best of them. In her three years working with him, she'd only seen one person that could consistently beat him in unarmed combat, and that person was dead. She was only able to get one out of four with him, and that was when he was hung-over and she was at her best. She felt a little better knowing that she could kick his ass with swords, and with knives they were pretty even.

Two cars passed her on the way to where she left her sword. It had been a fifteen minute drive, so she'd be walking a long while. Finally she got fed up and stuck out her thumb at the next car. It was an older car, the one parked outside the motel, and the man pulled over. Chandre blinked. The bearded man from the diner stared at her.

"It's pretty dangerous in these woods at night," he commented. "Where do you want to go?"

"Just a little farther down this road," Chandre said, not getting in. She didn't quite trust him. His mind wasn't clear, but she couldn't sense any ill-will towards her. In this shape she didn't think she could defend herself too well. At least she knew she could still shoot straight.

"You want in or not?" the man asked. She smiled slightly and stepped inside, moving slowly. Even so, she managed to bump her shoulders against one of her cuts, and a gasp seeped between her teeth. "You all right?"

"Fine, just fine." He pulled over, and they started down the road.

"You hear of the murders?"

"Huh? Murders?"

"Yeah. Found four naked bodies washed up on the banks of the Wagon, couple miles outside of Douver. All had been shot."

"Really?" So werewolves changed into their human forms when they died. Who would have known. It didn't explain the dead wolf on the bank, though. "Any idea who killed them?"

"No. They were all hit between the eyes." He glanced over at her. "Know anything about it?"

She shook her head, and winced again. "Nah. I just got here."

"And you want to go into the woods tonight. It's pretty dangerous out there. There's been some vicious animal attacks the past couple of weeks."

"I'll be fine." She wondered why in the world the guy was prying so much. Just nosy? A reporter? He didn't have that feel to him, though. Something different. There were dangerous undercurrents in his mind, and she had a feeling that he was not a person to cross. "Uh, right here is good." This looked like the spot where she had hidden the sword.

He pulled over, and turned in his seat. "You know, I don't feel good about letting a young girl like yourself out in these woods, what with the werewolves and all."

She stilled, but didn't turn to face him. It was dark enough in the car that he probably couldn't see her eyes, but she didn't want to take a chance. Humans just didn't have pupils that were slit like a cat's, and she had lost her contacts somewhere. "Werewolves?" she asked, trying to sound casual.

"That's what some people are saying." He reached into his jacket and pulled out a badge, then slipped it back in before she could get a good look. "I'm from the FBI, and I'm doing a little research on the maulings. Those murders two nights ago were odd, and especially since a traveler was picked up later that night on the side of the road, looking like she'd been attacked by a really big animal. That would have been you."

"Yeah, something attacked me," she admitted. He was not an FBI agent. That much she could tell from the muddy confines of his mind. He wasn't much of a broadcaster and she wasn't much of a telepath, but she caught the lie cleanly. One of the bad things about being injured was that her shields got really low and she could hear everything.

"What were you doing out there?"

"I was camping."

"In the middle of November?"

"Yeah."

"What did the creatures that attacked you look like? Can you describe it?"

"Look, Mr. _FBI Agent_, if you don't mind, I have things to do."

"Like kill more people."

She turned to face him full on, letting anger show in her features. "I didn't kill anything!" she snarled at him. "I was attacked by a lot of creatures, and I ran away."

"You outran four werewolves?"

"You got a problem with that?" she snapped, and reached for the handle. Suddenly she felt the cold circle of a barrel pressed against her head and she froze.

"Hold it right there and turn around with your hands where I can see them," the man said. Quietly she obeyed. "Now, hands on the dash . . . good." He kept the gun steady. "Now take off your shirt."

She snorted. "What're you gonna do, _rape_ me?"

"Just take off the shirt." Rape was not on his mind. Sighing, she tugged it off, moving slowly, her muscles aching. She had put her holster on underneath the shirt, hoping that no one would really notice the bulge, and it stood out darkly against the blood-stained bandages and her pale skin. The man's eyes widened at the damage, and at the gun and the knives strapped to her wrists in spring-loaded sheaths.

"Don't move." The man reached forwards and took her gun, and reached for the knives, all the while keeping his gun pointed at her. Chandre's breath became ragged, and she shook. She didn't like being disarmed, and it was getting cold in the car. He eyed the knives, admiring their sharpness, and then looked at her gun. Looking at the clip, he whistled.

"These silver bullets?"

"Yes," she admitted.

He glanced at her. "You think you're some kind of monster hunter, do you?"

"Not at all," she replied, and suddenly realized that he was just that. A monster hunter. He could help her. Maybe. She frowned inwardly. She didn't need help. Shi was probably just having an extended romp with his newfound friends. Damn him. She sighed. "Look, since you're obviously not an FBI agent, I'll tell you what happened. I was camping with my partner when we were surrounded by a group of werewolves. The leader came and my partner told me to run for it. A group of Weres came after me and attacked me. So I shot four when they were going across the river, but they caught up with me. I survived because something called them off to rejoin their pack."

"You left your partner?" His eyes narrowed with disdain.

"He told me to leave, and it was more dangerous for me," she replied calmly.

"So your partner's dead."

"He's not dead," Chandre replied with confidence.

"And you're going to look for him now."

"Yeah. He said he'd meet me in a day or two, and he hasn't showed up. You got a problem with that?"

"And why'd you just blurt out everything to me right now?" he asked, looking suspicious. "I could be a serial killer."

"No. You're a monster hunter." He jerked, looking surprised, and his eyes widened.

"How the fuck did you—?"

"Did I know?" She leaned forwards, close enough so that he could make out her eyes. He looked stunned. "I just happen to be something that normal people would call a monster." She leaned back as he raised the gun, and shook her head. "Actually, I'm quite human-" sort of "-just not the run-of-the-mill human you see in the supermarket. And I can tell who's trustworthy and who's not. Now, my partner is out there, and I need to find him. If you would be so kind as to give me my weapons back, I'll just be going."

He handed them back. "Do you need help?" he asked after a while, staring at her injuries. "A normal person would be unconscious in a hospital with those wounds."

"Well _obviously_ I can't go to one of those," Chandre said, pulling her shirt on. "I'll be just fine." She was probably going to die.

"Okay. If you do need help, just call me, all right?" She didn't mention that she didn't have a phone. He scrawled down a number and she shoved it into her jeans' pocket, then stepped out of the car. He drove away, and she quickly crossed the road, finding her sword just where she had left it.

It hurt like hell bouncing at her back, but it was a lot better than wearing it at her hip, where it would tangle with all of the brush in the forest. She walked for several hours, traveling more and more slowly, pausing after hearing several howls, but she didn't recognize Shi's.

The night air cut through her skin until her teeth were chattering so loudly that she didn't hear them until they were right behind her.

"Little lost lamb," one growled, and she turned, staring at the huge wolf in his half-form. Three more wolves ringed her. "Bloody lamb. You been butchered already, meat-girl?" The others sniggered.

"Where's Striker?" Chandre asked, refusing to be cowed.

One of them sniffed at her, and another chuckled. "Isn't this his meat-girl?" one asked.

"Smells like it. All bloody, though."

"Where's Striker?" Chandre demanded.

"Oh, he doesn't want to see you," the biggest said. "He's too busy being our Ulfric."

"Tom, should we rip her up?" the little asked. He sounded eager. "Rip her up and eat her. She smells good."

"Striker said to leave her alone," Tom growled. "I don't want a fucking meat-girl to have our Ulfric's eye." He stalked towards her. She didn't have time to draw her gun before he swung his arm, catching her in the jaw. Her head snapped back and she flew several feet, crashing into a tree. Something crunched, and she crumpled to the ground, blackness welling up to meet her as she face-planted in a fern.

She tasted blood, and then everything was nothingness, just laughter ringing in her ears.

A/N: Okay, so this reaaaally long chapter is finally over, and I wish that you will tell me how you liked it! review! review! Either way, I'm going to keep on writing and another chapter should be up in a day or so. 


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: Thanks for the f/b on the last chapter! Here's the next one. Enjoy!

She was in a car. That much she gathered. Cracking open an eye, she stared out at the dark landscape, struggling to roll her head over to see who had picked her up. She couldn't remember much beyond hitting that tree, so she could be someone's captive or something else.

"Don't move your head," a familiar voice warned. Mr. FBI. "I think you might have a concussion. What's the date?"

"How the fuck should I know?" she growled, her throat dry. "Uh . . . Wednesday?"

"Good. Say the alphabet."

She recited it, and then backwards when asked. He nodded, and pulled off the side of the road, switching on the car light. Carefully he cupped her cheeks in his hands and rotated her face towards him, warning her not to move.

"Follow my finger." He frowned, staring at her eyes. "I'm not sure if it works the same—"

"My eyes just look different. They track the same," she replied. She knew she didn't have a concussion, but went through with it as he waved his finger back and forth, then up, down and diagonally. Satisfied, he switched off the light.

"Can you move your neck?" She tried, and raised her hands delicately to feel everything. Looked good. Well, not great, or good, but at least nothing was broken.

He turned back onto the road, and began driving. "How did you find me?" she asked, and suddenly felt naked. Her sword wasn't there. Neither was her gun, for that matter.

"They're on the backseat," he remarked blandly. She turned her head. There they were, right where he said. "Coincidentally, I was wandering through the woods near the inn and I ran across you. You must have backtracked a long ways, but there was no sign of the werewolves."

"I was looking for them."

"And by the looks of you, you found them. Did you find your partner?"

"No," she sighed. "Just three toughs. One of them knocked me against a tree. Where are we going?"

"I'm on my way to Douver."

"What?" she yelped, turning sharply. Stars danced in front of her and she moaned in pain. "Let me out of this car!"

"I think that the Weres are moving," he said. "And you need someone to take care of you while you heal."

"Pardon me?" she asked archly. "What the fuck makes you my keeper?"

He glanced at her, brown eyes mild. "You're in trouble, you're wounded and you're looking for werewolves. And you're alone. I think you need a friend right now, and I wish I could help you."

"Aren't you helping me?" she asked.

He nodded. "For the moment, but I can't take you with me."

"Who says I want to come?"

He sighed. "Just listen. I'm going to drop you off with two young men who are like me. Monster hunters, that is. They'll help you find your partner."

"How can I trust them?"

"Do you trust me?"

"Hell no." She sighed. "Sorry. I guess. I'm not used to trusting many people. With my partner missing, or captured, or, or, whatever . . . I guess I'm a little out of it. He's my better half anyways."

"He a werewolf?"

"It was an accident. But yeah."

"And you've been bitten." He rounded a corner, and she gripped the armrest on the door.

"I can't Turn."

"You sure about that?"

"Yeah. I was bit the same time he was, and I haven't Changed. I can't Turn." She smiled thinly. "Finally something in my genetics worked out." She turned her head. "So, Mr. FBI, why do you hunt the monsters?"

He stiffened, and finally let out a breath. "My wife was killed by a demon twenty-two years ago," he said after a long pause. "I swore revenge. Probably sounds odd to you, huh?"

She laughed, and ended up coughing. Her hand was tainted with blood when she finished, and her sides ached. He had pulled over and was rubbing her back carefully. Leaning over the seat, he reached down and came up with a bottle of water. Greedily she gulped half of it down, hands shaking so badly she spilled half of the bottle down her front. Fingers trembling as she recapped the bottle, she put it on the floor between her legs and he turned back onto the road, satisfied that she wasn't going to keel over and die right there.

"Revenge?" she said after a while. "Revenge is something I know very well."

"I was meaning to ask you. How exactly does a girl as young as you get herself stuck in the woods with a rather nice sword, several daggers and a gun loaded with silver bullets? Not to mention five other clips of silver bullets. 'Fraid your partner's gonna kill you?"

"No. Just a precaution against an animal attack."

"With silver bullets?"

"Guaranteed to drop them. They're expensive, but worth it. And with Sh-_Striker_ being a werewolf, he tends to attract others of his uh, kind."

"Your friend's name is 'Striker'? What exactly do you do?"

She sighed. No point in keeping it hidden. "I'm a contract killer."

He hit the brakes and she was set flying forwards, her seatbelt cutting into her shoulders. His gun was in his hands, but she had already placed her dagger against his throat, her eyes wide with alarm.

"You're a fucking _assassin_?" he yelled.

She nodded, keeping the knife there. Suddenly he lowered the gun and began to laugh, long and hard. She slid the dagger away from him and flicked it back up into her wrist sheaths.

"Figures," he said between breaths. "The people I'm sending you to are going to just love you."

"Got a problem with assassins?" she growled.

He shook his head. "Not really, I guess. Most are just low-down dirty bastards." She shrugged, and winced again. "What were you doing out in the woods?" he asked. There was a dangerous tone on his voice, and in his mind, despite his feigned joviality.

"It was nearing the full moon, and we had just finished our latest job," Chandre replied truthfully. "So we decided to camp out. I've never really gone camping before. And the wolves came. The rest is as I told you."

"Who do you work for?" he demanded.

"I can't tell you," she said. "That you know that I'm an assassin is bad enough, but I don't think you will tell anyone." In fact, she was quite certain, from his mind.

He shook his head. "That explains the precision in the bullet wounds on the bodies. You must have an amazing shot."

"I can hit the broad side of a barn."

"And you can use the sword?"

"Better than most."

He laughed again, wonderingly. "Dean and Sam are going to love you," he chuckled, shaking his head.

"Who?"

"Dean and Sam. The boys I'm dropping you off with."

"The monster hunters?"

"Yeah."

"Um . . . what's your name?" she asked. "I mean, can I call you something other than Mr. FBI?"

"John. John Winchester," he said.

"Scarlet." They shook hands, Chandre wincing as her arm was gently jerked.

He didn't believe that was her real name for a second, but eyed her hair, seeing the connection. "Well, then, Scarlet, we'd better get on the road. About two miles from Douver."

The sun was already above the low mountains by the time they pulled into a motel that looked almost exactly like the one in Cains, with the same run-down look and the long outdoor hall covered with a patched-up roof.

"Good, they're not there," John said, sounding satisfied.

"Huh?" she asked. She was becoming slightly disorientated from the loss of blood. Or maybe she was finally dying. "Don't you want to meet them?"

He shook his head. "No. I-I can't. Not until I find the truth behind what killed my wife."

She didn't exactly understand, but nodded like she did. He opened his door and got out. She managed to open her door, but her legs didn't seem to want to move.

"I'll be there in a second," he called as he walked over to a door, picking the lock within moments. She had hardly met another person who could jimmy a lock as fast as she or her partner, so she just stared at him when he walked over to her and held out his arms.

"I'll carry you in," he said.

"But—" she protested as he gathered her up in his arms, "—it's just a little ways," she finished weakly.

"Frankly, Scarlet, I don't give a damn." When she looked at him blankly, he sighed. They entered the room, and he set her down on the nearest bed. "Never watched _Gone With the Wind_, have you?"

"No." She had never heard of it before.

He sighed, and walked out, coming back with her sword and holster. "They should be back soon. Sam's backpack is still there."

"Are you sure this is okay?" she asked. She had already resigned herself to her fate.

"Just fine. They might be a bit startled, but just tell them I sent you and it'll be okay."

"You didn't tell them."

He sighed. "I haven't really been speaking with them. Don't worry, this'll be okay and they'll help you find your partner probably better than I could." She nodded, dubious. "Just go to sleep and try not to kill yourself. Got that?" She nodded again, and he took her hand. "Nice meeting you, Scarlet. First time in a long time someone's drawn a knife on me that fast."

"You should see me when I'm not bleeding my guts out." He smiled and shook her hand, then left, walking out the door.

Exhaustion wavered over her, so much that she didn't even bother to look around the room, and she collapsed back on the bed, asleep before her eyes closed.

A/N: Hope you liked this one! If you can't tell already, Dean and Sam will appear next chapter. Please review and tell me how this one went. Thanks! 


	4. Chapter 4

Voices murmured above her. She squirmed, her stomach and arms and body a wreathing mass of pain, and finally she managed to wake up just as a hand gripped her shoulder and tugged her onto her back, rolling her to face whoever it was standing over her.

Her eyes blinked open, and there was a gasp of alarm. Apprehension and aggression shifted over her open mind, and instinctively she lashed out with her dagger, flicking it into her hand in a blur of speed and catching one of the men on the neck. The other already had his gun pressing against her temple, his eyes wide.

"Drop the knife," the one with the gun said, and she knew, even though her eyes weren't working quite right, that he was deadly serious. He was going to blow her brains out. Her hand spasmed open, and the knife clattered to the floor. Judging from the yelp it narrowly missed her target's feet.

She blinked furiously, trying to clear the film from her eyes, but couldn't. Something covered them, and her arms were wooden, refusing to move. Exhaustion and lack of blood were taking its toll, but she only wished that it could have come at a more convenient time, like when she didn't have a gun at her head.

"Who are you?" the man with the gun asked.

She opened her mouth, but her throat was so dry she could only manage a few rasping sounds. Her body flung itself into convulsions, and when it stopped, she licked her lips wearily, tasting a wetness that wasn't saliva. At least her throat wasn't dry, though.

"J-John sent me," she finally gasped out, and the gun lowered with amazing swiftness.

"Who?" both boys demanded.

"John Winchester," she said weakly, and her eyes closed. "Said you'd help me," she finished almost inaudibly, falling into a pit of darkness. She just didn't care anymore.

She woke cocooned in warm blankets, her eyes clear. She didn't feel incredibly great, but she knew that she wasn't oozing blood from unnatural openings anymore. That was something of a relief.

Getting her bearings before she moved and gave away that she was awake, she found that she was in the same room as before, same bed, but the sheets had been changed. The room was dark, but there was a light on behind her, soft and quiet. Deep breathing indicated that there were two other people with her, presumably Sam and Dean, if John had dropped her off in the right place, and if the two men she hazily recalled from before hadn't left her. At least they had been smart enough to not take her to a hospital. Although her bandages felt fresh.

Finally she gave it up and eased herself into a sitting position. One man was lying on the bed, wrapped warmly under the covers, mouth open as he snoozed. His brown hair was uncombed and long, falling into his face and curling, one tendril just touching the end of his slightly upturned nose. The other was reclined on one of the chairs in the room, head tilted back, limbs askew. She couldn't see his face.

Finding herself extremely thirsty, she started peeling the covers off her, surprised to see that bandages aside, she was naked. And clean. Although she wasn't embarrassed about being nude, she realized that there was a nudity taboo in these parts, and wrapped the closest blanket she could find about her.

The mattress creaked despite her attempts of silence, and the man in the chair jerked awake. He was handsome, where the other was boyishly cute, with short light brown hair and hazel brown eyes that had flecks of gold. Or that could have been the dim light. Her eyes were playing tricks on her.

He eased himself up off the chair and walked almost silently over to her. "Feeling better?" he asked softly, and she realized that he didn't want to wake his brother up.

"A little. Water?"

He nodded and went into the dingy bathroom, coming back to find her pretty much unmoved, head hanging almost listlessly, eyes closed tight with pain. She drained the cup in one long gulp and opened her eyes.

"You said John Winchester sent you?" he asked, sounding both skeptical and excited. She could tell that he wanted to shake an answer out of her when she didn't answer immediately.

"Yes. He dropped me off here." She stared at him, catching something in his thoughts. While she hated it when her shields were so low, since her energy was almost completely depleted she decided that she might as well take advantage of it, unethical though prying was. "Your father?" All of a sudden, it made some sort of sense. Of course he would trust her with his sons. Or his sons with her.

His eyes got wide. "Did he tell you?"

"No. I guessed. You all kind of resemble each other. Which one are you?"

"Dean. That's Sam." Who was still sleeping, still totally oblivious. "Who're you, and how did you meet my dad?"

"You can call me Scarlet. I stumbled into your dad a couple of times. He said that you'd be able to help me." Her mouth curled sarcastically. "Not that I need help."

Dean's eyebrow quirked. "You were almost dead."

"Not quite."

"What did that to you, and how did you meet him?" The kid—so he was older than her, and probably older than Shi too, by a couple years—was desperate to know more about his father.

"He gave me the FBI spiel after he picked me up on the side of the road. I was walking to get my sword." She quickly recounted everything, and Dean nodded.

"So you need help finding your partner . . . Striker?" he asked. "Who's a werewolf?" He shook his head, eyes wide and slightly skeptical. "I've heard some crazy things . . . but werewolves? Wait a second—you've been bitten!"

She sighed. Did she really have to tell everyone? "I can't be Turned," she explained, getting irritated. "Something about the way my DNA is structured—"

"Are you some sort of government experiment?"

"No!" she yelped. Sam turned in his bed, but didn't wake up. Talk about a sound sleeper. "Sorry," she said, a bit quieter. "It's a long story." She glanced down at herself and then back up at him. "Thanks for changing the dresses and stuff."

"Sam got a little squeamish, and that stomach wound almost made me puke," he admitted. She could tell that he wanted to flirt with her, but something made him pause. Maybe it was the not-quite-human bit? "At least those stitches are holding and it doesn't look too infected."

She sighed. "Good. I do not want to redo them."

Sam shifted on the bed, and blinked his eyes open. "Hey, starting the interrogation without me?"

Dean turned towards his brother. "Good morning, bro." He glanced at Chandre. "Well, now that you're awake we can stitch the claw marks on your arm."

"Did, uh, did Dad stitch up your stomach?" Sam asked suddenly as Dean left the room. Chandre shook her head. "You did?" She just stared at him, and he got really pale. "Shit." He stood up and pulled on pants, then wandered around the room, looking for something.

"Uh, the stitching will hurt, obviously, but do you want some Advil or something?"

"I'm allergic. Do you have any alcohol?"

Sam glanced at her. "We have a couple cans of Heineken—"

"I meant like 60 proof or higher. It's for the cuts." He shook his head, and she sighed. "Then I'll take the beer." She didn't really liked drinking, it tended to give her a massive hangover, but it would ease the pain . . . a little. Of course, it would wreck havoc on her other systems, but she knew quite well that she was far from dying.

Sam walked out to get the beer as Dean came back in with a sewing kit. Chandre quietly began to unwrap the bandages on her arms, feeling more and more conscious of the sheet covering her as Dean pulled up the chair he had been sleeping in, sitting knee to knee with her, their thighs touching. He took her arm and bent over it, holding it under the lamp.

"Do you have a shirt that I can borrow?" she asked.

He glanced up at her, and then straight at her chest, where the bandages were slightly covering, and his face flushed. "God, I'm sorry," he said, pulling away. "Yeah." After rummaging through his bag, he pulled out a shirt. "Do you, uh, want some underwear?" he asked, looking slightly hesitant. She knew that she hadn't been wearing any underneath her clothes. Anonymous underwear kind of freaked her out.

"So long as it's clean." He tossed her a pair of boxers, and politely turned his back while she pulled them on. His shirt covered her enough, although she was almost as tall as him, and she sat back down on the bed.

Sam came back and opened the beer for her, since she couldn't. He watched while Dean sterilized the needle by holding it under a flame, and carefully threaded it. Chandre watched too, and quietly trickled some of the Heineken over it. It wouldn't do much good and she didn't get infections as easily as most people, but it was better than nothing. Hissing as the liquid dripped on her arm, she let Dean take her arm and turn it closer to the light.

"This'll hurt," he warned, and slipped the needle into her skin.

It hurt, even more so than when she had done her stomach, because then she had been in a state of shock and giddy from blood loss. Biting her lip, she clenched her free hand and fought off a cry, strove not to attack the guy who was trying to help her. Her arm burned, the whole thing throbbing so hard she thought it was going to fall off, and each prick brought stars to her already clenched eyes. She felt the thread sliding through her skin like a river of lava, and then copper flooded her mouth.

Her eyes flew open as Sam dabbed at her mouth, his face pale, eyes riveted on her arm. He looked like he was going to either pass out or faint, and she realized that he didn't like needles too much. Well, neither did she.

"Sam," she whispered through clenched teeth. "Sam," she repeated, and he tore his eyes from her face. "Get me something to eat, will you?" He stared at her, not comprehending. "Food speeds up the healing process." She fought to keep her voice level and calm, although inwardly she was screaming and crying, tearing at her hair trying to get away from the pain.

Dean was trying to focus in on the job at hand. "What do you want?" Sam asked.

"Something with lots of calories—uh, five hamburgers? And fries. Take your time, okay? I won't need them for a while." He nodded, and practically fled, relief flooding through his mind. He was also a little ashamed, but that was okay. He was a tough guy.

"What was that for?" Dean asked. "Five hamburgers?"

"Yeah. One for you, one for Sam and uh, three for me." She hissed as he tied up the row.

"You can eat three hamburgers?" He started on the next claw mark, but she shoved him away.

"Not that one. It can close up on its own. That one. Thanks." He shrugged and got to work. Hurriedly she took a swig, disliking the taste of beer and blood. Shi might argue, but she thought it was a bad mix. Then again, Shi was happily capering with his newfound friends. A lie, she knew, since she was certain that he was probably getting an ulcer worrying about her.

Dean was finishing with the last scrape on her other arm when Sam came back, his face relaxing when he realized they were almost done. Well, not quite. There was that bite mark on her shoulder she was worried about, but if it was as bad as she thought then it would probably heal first with enough nutrition and rest. It was the minor wounds—the scratches—that she was worried about. Those would heal when she was a touch more stable. At least no bones were broken and no ribs were crunched—a lucky break there, although she was certain that several ribs on the left side had been bruised.

Her arms ached, but she took the bag Sam gave her and duly passed out two hamburgers, although she wanted to eat them too. And they were big burgers, with grease dripping down the sides.

She wolfed the first down in under two minutes, then attacked the second. By the third she was slowing down, and her stomach hurt pleasantly. Fairly certain that the internal bleeding was completely gone, since she hadn't lapsed into a coma yet, she scarfed up the fries, the boys staring at her.

Dean was still in the middle of his burger. "You're going to kill yourself," he said.

"I'm _hungry_," she explained, licking her fingers delicately. "And now I'm tired. Where did you put my stuff?"

"Your _sword_ is under the bed, along with your gun and three daggers," Sam said. "What do you need a sword for anyways? Going for the Blade approach?" At her blank look, he said, "Vampire slayer? Popular movies?" At her blank look, he stared. "You've never heard of him?"

"I don't watch . . . TV," she said slowly.

"Like, ever?"

She shook her head. Sam laughed. "Well Dean, I've finally met someone who's more culturally repressed than you."

"Hey, I've seen Blade," Dean said, and crouched down at Chandre's feet before she could kneel down to get her things. "Just stay there and don't move. I've got them."

"Thanks," she muttered, and took the sword carefully. The guns and daggers came next. Checking to make sure that everything was in order, she checked to make sure that her .38 was loaded with ten rounds of the silver, and slipped the safety on. One dagger went under her pillow, and everything else went back under the bed.

Lying down, she glanced at them, and realized guiltily that there were only two beds. "Sorry," she muttered, sitting up. "I took someone's bed, huh?"

"Mine, actually," Dean said with a sigh. "Don't worry about it." He looked over at Sam. "Well dude, better work on this case. We'll be back around dusk or so. Are you okay alone, Scarlet?"

She was already asleep.

Two days later her stomach had healed enough for her to feel up to leaving Douver to head back to Cains, although she had a feeling that the werewolves were long gone. Dean and Sam were also already finished up with hunting down and finishing off a demon that had been terrorizing a local family. Cramped in the backseat of Dean's car, which looked like a well-tended dump but was the love of his life, she dozed off and on during the short ride.

Sam glanced back at the passed out girl in the back, her blood red hair hanging over her face and down her front. She was wearing someone's clothes, and he was a little concerned since he had never seen her go out shopping, but didn't say anything. Scarlet was a complete mystery. She claimed she was human, but with those weird eyes and that hair, she looked like she was from another world.

"Dude," he said low to his brother, "are you even sure she's safe? I mean, we could be going on a complete goose chase out in the woods."

"We're helping her. Dad sent her to us for a reason," Dean replied calmly. "Besides, she needs help."

"Not like you to be so caring. We don't know her!" Sam hissed. "What if she's going to kill us?"

"If that really was the case then she could have done it while we were sleeping. You've seen how quiet she moves." Sam nodded. He had woken up the night before to a difference in the air pressure, and saw her padding inside, cloth in her arms. He suspected that she had stolen them from someone at the motel, but no one complained of theft in that morning when they were getting ready to leave, and no one seemed to notice the fairly non-descript clothes she had taken. "Just trust her for a while, okay?"

Sam nodded. He knew that he shouldn't be putting up such a fight with someone traveling with them, especially someone who knew precisely what they were, and even his shining didn't have any premonitions about her. She seemed safe, but something nagged at the bottom of his gut. A feeling that something was off about her.

Scarlet shifted in the backseat and sat up as they entered Cains. "Where do you want to start searching?" Dean asked, eyeing their passenger from the backseat.

"Pull into the diner's parking lot," she said. As Dean parked the car, Sam watched as she quickly wrapped her hair into a neat bun and slid a baseball cap over her head. Buttoning her coat halfway, she tucked a pair of sunglasses into a front pocket and got out when Sam pulled the seat forwards for her.

"Where would you want to start looking for a pack of werewolves?" Sam asked his brother, who shrugged and looked towards the girl with interest. She looked almost androgynous in her heavy jacket and slightly baggy pants and boots.

"Want to go for a hike?" she asked, staring off into the woods. Even at noon and near a city, they were dark and menacing.

"Not really," Sam replied. "Have there been any animal attacks that you know of?"

"Yeah. That's what your dad was doing here. He was investigating the maulings over the past month." She turned to stare at him. "And there were four murders about a week ago. The town'll be pretty shook up about that one. What they don't know was that the dead were werewolves."

"How do you know?" Dean asked.

"Because I killed them." She shrugged, as if it was nothing. "They were after me, and I defended myself."

"Anything else we might need to know?" Sam asked.

"Well, the pack could live here, meaning that they haven't moved, so that means someone could recognize me. Either my face or my scent. We should search in the woods first though."

"Any reason?"

"That's where I left my bag. Striker might have taken it, or he might not have. Since he hasn't come for me yet, he might have just left it in the clearing assuming that I would come back for it." She sighed. "It's about ten miles away, though."

"I'm not walking ten miles," Sam said. "While you two—" He realized that Scarlet probably couldn't walk ten miles, and stopped. "How're you going to get there?"

"Walking. I'm much better now," she said. True, she had healed faster than anyone he had ever seen before. They'd need to take out the stitches in a day or two.

"Okay. I assume that you're going with her?" he asked Dean, who nodded. His bro was feeling pretty protective about their passenger. "While you're out walking, I'd better do the homework. You said you stayed a couple of days at that motel, right? Would Striker have left anything for you there?"

"Maybe. He might have posted something in the newspaper, although that's doubtful. He might even be wandering around the town." She shrugged, looking completely lost. "Hopefully he's just wandering around the town."

"Would he have posted something in the paper?" Sam asked. She just shrugged again. "What would he have written?"

"Uh, it would have begun 'S to C,' or 'GZ to GZ.' Something like that. Then probably—do you have a piece of paper? I can write it down." Sam dug through his bag and handed her a pad and pen and she scribbled something down.

Taking it, he read aloud, "'Rgdng Prty.' That's it?"

"There should be something more, but that's how it'll start off," she replied. "Just be careful, okay? I don't think the werewolves are too happy with me, and they might not be too happy with Striker, either."

"All right. See ya, bro," Sam said, and wandered off towards the motel.

Chandre watched as Dean shifted through the trunk of his car, pulling out some weapons. She quietly shifted herself to stand between him and any people who cared to look. They were parked in a semi-deserted area, but still.

"Can they Change during the day?" Dean asked.

"Yeah, but you shouldn't need anything more than a gun of some sort." He pulled out a shotgun. "Silver bullets are nice. Regular will stop them if you hit their brain or sever the spinal cord, but silver does lasting damage. Their bodies can't heal it very fast."

"I've got rounds of rock salt."

Chandre blinked. "I get it. Instead of throwing salt at the demons, why not shoot it at them? Nice."

"How'd you know about salt and demons?"

"I grew up around this sort of thing. Unfortunately salt will really only work against angry spirits, demons and fairies, not werewolves."

"But how did you—"

She put a finger against her eye. "Eyes, remember?" She really didn't want to explain. Peering into the trunk, she picked up a carved piece of wood. "I've seen this symbol. People seem to pray under this to keep vampires away."

Dean just stared at her. "Don't you know what that is?"

"A stick with limbs?" She set it back down in the trunk.

"It's the symbol for Christianity . . . what Jesus died on . . . you know?" he asked, seeming completely amazed and startled.

"Oh. _Christianity_." She had no idea what he was talking about. Some weird religion these people liked to follow? "Okay." She touched a coil of iron chain, and shuddered. Nasty. Iron only hurt fairies, of course, but she had seen the burns it left. She wondered if Dean knew that it did that to the fey folk, but didn't say anything. "Ready?" He was still staring at her like she was nuts.

"Yeah, I guess," he replied, and slammed the lid when she stepped back. "Taking your sword?"

"No. It's daytime."

Once again, he stared at her like she was nuts. Didn't he know that only the _really_ bad things came out at night? Minor annoyances happened in the day, but the nasty stuff was strongest just before dawn. Forget that crap about full moons and moonless nights and midnight, that's when it happened.

Shrugging, she walked towards the woods, Dean keeping the shotgun tight by his side until they had vanished far enough into the woods where no one could see them from the town.

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A/N: Well, once again thanks for reading, and thanks for those people who reviewed, because you guys are really cool. Anyhow, once again, if you liked it, please tell me! And if you didn't, well, that too. The next chapter will be up by tomorrow or so. And if you're wondering exactly what Chandre is, well, I'm debating whether or not I need to explain it. Either way, it's not really crucial to the story. 


	5. Chapter 5

A/N: Sorry for the wait, but I wasn't sure if I wanted to go in this direction or not . . . but I took the plunge, and so here it is. Enjoy!

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They walked in silence for an hour or so, Chandre carefully scanning the woods, having to stop often as her breath ran out and her muscles began to shake. Finally, an hour and a half later they reached the spot Chandre had been camping.

There was a kicked out fire in the center of the clearing, long cold. Chandre crouched beside it, wondering how had done it. Dean walked around the edge of the clearing, and paused, staring down at something.

"There's a lot of blood right here," he called softly.

"Probably from a fight," Chandre replied. Shi had won it. At least, that's what the toughs who had knocked her down had implied, but she didn't exactly know what they meant by it. Had they called him Ulfric? Everything about that night was pretty hazy.

Nothing else was in the clearing aside from some cloth from the sleeping bags, which had probably been ripped apart during the fight, or perhaps even after. She wandered over to the dried blood and knelt down beside Dean, making sure her knees didn't get stained.

"Huh." She had no clue whose it was.

Dean's phone rang and he quickly answered it, while she put her nose to the blood, lying down to avoid further injury, and sniffed the grass. "Yeah?" Dean asked. His tone of voice indicated that it was Sam. "Really? Anything else?"

The blood smelled like wolf, nothing special. Shi's unique scent didn't pop out, but then, she didn't expect it to. It had been almost a week.

Looking up, something pale flashed before her eyes, and she looked again. There, almost at shin level, was a slight scratch on the bark of the tree right in front of her. It was almost covered by foliage, but someone had made it on purpose.

"Hey Scarlet, Sam wants to talk to you," Dean said, breaking her from her inspection.

"Okay." Carefully she sat up, wincing as pain shot through her abdomen, and took the phone. "Uh-huh?"

"Mrs. Jones—the owner of the motel—said that someone was looking for you, or someone who looks like you, two days ago. Said it was a man, tall, with dark black hair—"

"That's not him," Chandre said quickly. "Sorry, I forgot to give a description. He's around six feet, tanned skin, golden-blond hair. Pretty unremarkable, I guess, but he's got grey eyes."

"Okay. Anyways, that man was asking for you. A werewolf?"

"Maybe."

"I also looked through the paper, and right in the personals I found an ad for 'S to C.' Says, 'Lost item, no trouble. Call NET.' What the hell does that mean?" Sam asked, sounding frustrated.

"'Lost item' would me, and he's saying that he's in no trouble. It's also a warning to me, says that someone's after me, and us now, I guess." Dean put his ear close to hers, listening in on their conversation.

"And 'Call NET'?"

"His location. Northeast. I'm not sure that the T means, though. I'll have to look at a map. Anything else?"

"Nothing so far. I'm off to the library."

"Research," Dean muttered, rolling his eyes.

"When will you guys be back?" Sam asked. "It's dark in three hours."

"We'll be back by then," Dean said. Chandre relayed the message, and gave Dean back the phone. While he finished up, she crept behind the tree and searched through the mass of ferns and bushes. With a cry of triumph, she pounced on her bag.

"What's up?"

"Found my bag," she said smugly, searching through it to make sure that nothing was amiss. No poisons or other nasty things hidden away to kill her. Maybe Shi had hidden it away for her. Either way, she had some fake IDs, so she could be legit now. And she had some clothes that finally fit right.

Dean walked around the tree towards her, and stared down at it as she rifled through, checking to make sure that everything was in order. Her spare contacts were in there, along with the colored ones. Perfect. Just perfect. She didn't really need the backpack, but it was nice to have. Unfortunately, someone had taken the money out of the front pocket, leaving only a small note that read, "Sorry, luv, but I really need this."

"What's that?" Dean asked, and she handed him the note. "Nice guy."

"It's just money." Nothing else had been touched. If he had gone through her bag, he would have replaced her three cut hairs with two of his own on the zipper, just to let her know.

"He didn't leave you a note on where he had gone?"

"No." She sighed. "He's probably trying to hide where he is, meaning that he could have escaped from the pack."

"And could have found you."

"Yeah. Something's up, obviously. He doesn't do this."

"What if he's breaking up with you?" Dean asked.

Chandre laughed. "Breaking up with me? Trust me, he wouldn't."

"So you say." Chandre stood up and shook her head. The forest was suddenly a lot quieter. "Some people can be blind to the facts. He could have just dumped you and high-tailed off with some werewolf chick."

"Shh." She stood up, and he just raised an eyebrow.

"Okay, be in the denial. The signs are all there—"

"I meant, shut up and carry my bag, will you?"

He rolled his eyes as if to say, _women_, but picked up the bag and slung it over his shoulder. She felt the presence of something to their right, and eased back into the clearing, Dean following her, not noticing her caution. Then again, she had developed a good deal of her life in learning to be subtle. Her concentration faltered. Shi would have laughed if she had ever told him that.

The presence moved closer, and she could feel the emotions a little more. Nothing more than an animal hunger, followed by a splurt of anger as the woman recognized Chandre's scent.

The woman charged as Chandre drew her gun and fired a round into her leg, and she fell, howling. She was in half-form, and Dean swore and raised the rifle, but Chandre had already advanced, pointing her gun at the woman's head.

"It's silver," she snapped.

"You _motherfucking whore_!" the wolf screamed through teeth that were growing steadily pointer from the Change. Chandre groaned inwardly. Shi had told her that the Change tended to come when in extreme emotion or pain or during the full moon. And the woman didn't have any of the power in her that Shi had, meaning she probably wasn't an Alpha, or even a Beta, so she couldn't reverse the Change.

"Where is Striker?" Chandre snarled. Intimidation was key with wolves, Shi had said. Bluffing and exerting confidence was all that was needed. Unfortunately, Chandre didn't bluff too well. She plunged straight ahead.

"Fuck you!" Chandre kicked the wolf in the stomach, feeling sick. She hated torture. Quick, clean kills were what she was best at. The pain of the wolf overrode most of her emotions and swarmed towards Chandre, who just wanted to puke. But she couldn't.

"Danny," Chandre said, turning to Dean and deliberately changing his name. "_Danny._" He looked away from the wolf to her, looking startled at her sudden use of force. "Turn around and scan the area for more. Hit them with the shotgun with if they charge. Use the silver rounds and fire liberally." He opened his mouth as if to say that he didn't have silver bullets, but comprehension dawned and he turned around.

The Change was coming sluggishly on the wolf, hampered by the silver bullet embedded in her thigh.

"All right, bitch, where the fuck is my partner?" Chandre asked. The wolf snarled. Chandre crouched beside her, showing no fear. The other woman attempted to lash out at her, but she swatted the clawed hand aside, flicking a knife into that hand. "Want me to slice off a thumb?" A snarl. Chandre plunged the dagger down, stopping at the dip of the collarbone, resting it with enough pressure to show that she meant business. "How about I cut off a tit? That'll fucking hurt." The blade pressed down, drawing blood, and the wolf whimpered, cowed.

"Where's Striker?" Chandre growled, and pressed the blade deeper. The wolf twitched, but her other hand was faster, pressing the barrel of the gun against the bitch's kneecap. It left her horribly exposed, but with enough confidence she could seem invincible. "Move and your days of running'll be over. Where is he?"

"H-He's with the Pack," the bitch whimpered, and began sobbing. "You killed them—you f-fucking killed them."

"Where's the Pack?"

The sobbing grew louder, and snot dribbled down her face, mixing with the tears. "P-please don't kill me," she wailed, and Chandre knew that she couldn't tell her. Her fear of the Ulfric was greater than her fear of her tormenter. But she thought the location, and Chandre plucked that image from her mind. No picture to go with the thought of Ulfric, though, just a big scary thing. There was a small image of Shi, too, associated closely with fear.

Chandre stood, drawing the blade away, and kicked the wolf. "Get away from my sight before I blow your pathetic head off," she spat, and the woman scrambled to her feet, breasts swinging as she limped as fast as she could into the forest.

"Any other beasties in the woods?" Dean asked, turning to find her crumpled on the ground, puking. "Shit. You okay?"

Chandre nodded, weakly, and wiped her mouth with trembling hands. "Yeah. Yeah." Closing her eyes, she took a deep breath, trying to stay calm. "Sorry."

"I have no idea why my father thought you needed help," Dean said. "Because you seemed to have everything under control." He was disgusted. She didn't blame him. She was disgusted with herself.

"I don't normally torture people." Kill them, yes; hurt them for pleasure, no. Shi hated torture as well, but he did it, knowing that people broadcasted more when they were in pain and it sometimes sucked Chandre under if she wasn't paying attention. He also could distance himself better than she could.

"'Don't normally'? Just who the fuck are you?" he demanded, sounding alarmed. He was going to use force. He was going to threaten her. She took a deep breath, trying to calm herself down. "You've got fake IDs in your bag and you're running after a werewolf boyfriend."

"He's not my boyfriend," Chandre explained. It went a little deeper than that.

"You carry a fucking sword!" he yelled. "Who the fuck are you?"

Best to level straight with him. "I'm an assassin," she said quietly, looking him in the eyes. He stilled, looking angry and pissed and threatened. "Striker and I are a team."

"You fucking sadist," he said, his voice full of disbelief.

"Sadists enjoy what they do. I don't."

"You seemed fucking pretty happy a little while ago." Shock. He was in shock. That was it. And he reacted with violence. Self-preservation. She knew because she did the same thing. It was long ingrained. If she didn't calm him down he was probably going to shoot her.

She winced. "If I had shown her fear, she would have never told me what I wanted to know. It's dominance. Werewolves are a hierarchical society—"

"Okay, I got it." He stood up, and asked, "Why did my dad dump you off in my room?" He raised the shotgun to her head. It might have been just rock salt, but that close it would probably kill her. Or at least blind her. "Did he know what you are?"

"I told him," she replied, trying to remain calm, but her fighting instincts were kicking in. "He slammed on the brakes and put a gun to my head."

"Did you kill him?" Dean snarled, and her eyes widened. "Did you kill him?" She tried to scramble to her feet, but he clicked off the safety. "Did you?"

"Of course not!" she snapped. "I don't go around killing random people!" He choked, almost a cough. "Okay, unless I'm paid. But I don't work without my partner. And I would never off a guy unless he tried to kill me."

"You just said he stuck a gun to your head."

"Yeah, but he didn't mean it. I just freaked him out." She eyed the shotgun, and tried hard not to imagine what her brains would look like scattered on the fallen leaves behind her. "Look, that bitch is going to bring her friends any second now, and we just wasted some pretty serious walking time."

"She said you killed someone. Who?"

"Those werewolves I told you about. They were chasing me—"

"What about my dad? Where is he?"

"I-I don't know. He's looking for whatever killed your mom—" There was a flash of a woman, pale in death and pinned against a ceiling, staring down with terrified eyes, blood dripping down like rain, and she shuddered. " . . . He didn't mention anything else, just that, 'the boys are going to love you.'" She laughed, softly, trying to drive that image from her mind. "Whatever that means."

"He told you about that?" Dean asked.

Chandre frowned. "Yeah. He didn't think I knew much about revenge." She glanced around them, catching the whisper of something against the trees. Dean was still too outraged to notice, and she shivered. There was another wolf.

"Revenge? What the hell does an assassin know about revenge? What the hell does an—umpfff!" he gasped as she ducked under the shotgun and tackled him to the ground the moment the werewolf leaped towards him. Rolling away quickly, she drew the gun and fired a round into the wolf's head, but it fell against Dean, biting his arm when he threw it up to protect his face, his other fist swinging back to punch it in the head, giving her a slightly obstructed view.

Growling in frustration, she fired again, and again and again and again until it shuddered and collapsed on Dean's body. Her hands didn't shake as she reloaded the gun, half watching as Dean shoved the creature off him. It wasn't changing back into its human form.

"Thanks," he said. "You going to shoot me now?"

She snorted. "Nope. You weren't really attacking me."

"I was going to shoot you."

"You were defending yourself and your brother. That," she pointed at the body, "was going to kill me. And it bit you."

"It's nothing."

"Nothing unless you want to turn furry every moon," she countered, and unloaded a silver bullet from the gun. "We don't really have time to check to be sure it didn't scratch you or bite you anywhere else, so just run this along the bite as we walk back to the town. It's going to sting like hell, but it'll help."

Again, he gave her the look like she was nuts. "You're not going to kill me?" he asked. "What kind of an assassin are you?"

"The one who doesn't like killing," she replied. At his raised eyebrows, she sighed. "Long story. Look, I don't think I can carry my backpack and stay upright. Could you?"

"Yeah." He grabbed it, and took the bullet she thrust into his hands, hissing when it burned the torn flesh of his wound. "It supposed to hurt this bad?" he asked as they walked back.

"It's sterilizing the bite. The silver neutralizes the werewolf virus and kills it. It's not fatal to an actual werewolf, but their accelerated healing is slowed to a crawl." She leaned against a tree, shaking and exhausted, but they had a long way back and it was getting very close to dark. Then the nasty critters would come out for some fun.

"You know a lot about werewolves," he remarked.

"I should, considering that I live and work with one," she replied, trying to keep her voice from trembling. Her stomach burned. "We tried everything to keep him from Turning, but we didn't know anything about them. And there's no cure, once you become one."

"So I'm a werewolf now?"

"Luckily the bite was on a limb, not your torso or neck. And we got to it pretty fast—"

"Am I?"

"I don't know," she sighed. "I know of a . . . something like a witch's brew, that will kill everything else, but we'll have to wait."

"You know spells, too?"

"I grew up among the ah, supernatural. I can't work magic though. But like I said, Striker and I, we tried everything. By the time we found the tea, it was too late." The tea had only made him incredibly sick, almost killing him.

"I can't believe that you know all this weird stuff, but haven't seen _Blade_," he said. "You've seen movies, right?"

"No." She didn't want to prove her ignorance by asking what "movies" were.

They walked in silence for a while, Chandre taking out the gun as the light began to fade. They were in deep shit if the wolves came out before they had time to reach the car.

"You know, you shoot pretty good, for a girl," Dean remarked after a while.

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" Chandre asked. The trembling had increased, although she was fighting hard to keep it from showing.

"Hey, it's embarrassing to be saved by a chick."

"Why?"

"Well, you know, a big monster comes and the chick screams and I save her. I'm a monster hunter. Duh." He grabbed her elbow when she tripped, keeping her upright. "Like right now. You gonna make it out on your feet, or will I have to carry you?"

"Shut up," she snapped, pulling away. "You know, you're a real chauvinistic bastard." She hated it when men thought she was weak just because she was a female. And especially when they babied her. Shi knew that she was a big kid and could handle herself.

"Wow, big words. Use those on Sammy, he's the educated one."

She opened her mouth to reply, and tripped on a bush. Dean caught her again, pulling her gently to her feet, and she leaned against him for a second, catching her breath. "Shit, you're shaking like a maraca."

"A what?"

He rolled his eyes. "Just lean on me, okay?" At her glare, he explained, "Look, I won't tell Sammy if you don't tell him I got bit. Deal?"

She opened her mouth to tell him that she didn't give a damn what Sam thought, when a long, low howl wailed from a ways away. It sounded closer, but she just couldn't know. Settling for a nod, she half-walked, half-staggered beside him, moving as quickly as possible, figuring that they had about an hour before sunset. Unfortunately, the wolves could probably catch up to them before then.

"So uh, just out of curiosity," Dean panted as they moved along, "why did you decide to become an assassin?"

"Wasn't really my choice," she gasped back. A pang in her stomach made her reel slightly, but Dean tugged her on and she took another step forwards. And another, and kept going. "But if it'll shut you up, I happen to be pretty good at killing and so the people I work for assigned me to that."

Another howl bounced into the forest, answering the first, and a chorus joined in, telling the first that they were not alone, that they had friends and a Pack.

"Will they attack us before the sun sets?" Dean asked.

"I don't know. Maybe. Probably." She stumbled, legs flaming, and kept moving. "I think there's a couple in the woods about twenty meters behind us, but they'll just follow us until ordered otherwise."

"How do you know?"

"Because they haven't attacked yet."

"I meant how do you know that they're behind us?"

"I heard them."

"Should we be quiet and sneak through the woods to get away with them or something?" Dean asked.

"Why bother? They already know we're here." She shook her head, and guesstimated that they had another fives to go. "If I was alone and uninjured, I might have a chance, but we can't get away from them."

"Well, I'm not going to sit down and cry," Dean drawled. "The closer we get to town the better. Hopefully Sammy doesn't come out into the woods after us." Worry edged his voice.

There was another howl, different this time. It was definitely masculine, although Chandre didn't know how she could tell, and he was calling the wolves to him, to report. The Ulfric. She wished that she could tell Shi's howl better, but couldn't pick him out from the pack of howls that answered, although she did jump at the two calls that rose up behind them, the hair raising on the back of her neck.

"Hurry," she urged, trying to move faster.

Chandre picked up the sounds of crashing moments before she heard the startled yelp. "Human," she gasped, and there was a low growl followed by another yelp.

"Nice doggy," the person called. He was close enough that they could tell it was Sam.

"Shit!" Dean yelled, and barreled forwards. Her legs screamed as she tore after him, and they leapt into the clearing to see one werewolf stalking towards Sam, hackles raised. Chandre raised her gun up and tripped, falling flat on her face just as Dean raised his shotgun and fired a round of rock salt into the beast's chest. She followed up with a silver bullet into its shoulder, and the creature screamed, a wild alien sound that tore at her ears. It turned and dashed into the woods to join its brothers and sisters.

"Sammy, you okay?" Dean asked, crouching to where his brother had been knocked to the ground. "Did it bite you?"

"No, just knocked into me," Sammy said, looking relieved to see his older brother. "Where the hell were you? It's close to sunset."

Chandre gathered herself to her feet, wincing and wishing that she had her sword. The Pack was extremely close. "Do you have a gun?" she asked, turning to face outward.

"Yeah." He drew it, and they were suddenly ringed by twenty bloodthirsty wolves.

"Fuck!" Dean yelled, and raised the shotgun. He had long since discarded the backpack.

"Don't fire until they attack," she snapped.

"What?" both brothers chorused, staring at her like she was crazy.

"They're going to rush us," Dean said tensely, "and we'll get torn to pieces. I think it's a good time to shoot." He had positioned himself close to Sam.

"We're dead meat anyways," Chandre replied, staring at the wolves in hopes of seeing her partner, but there was no golden-furred wolf. A couple of gray and some light blonds, but nothing with his distinctive coloring.

Something growled at the edges of the circle, and the wolves answered back, aggressively, but the lead wolf snarled and there were the sounds of a slight scuffle, then the wolves melted away into the clearing, looking extremely disappointed.

She saw something golden streaked towards her and shouted, "Don't shoot!" as Shi barreled into her, knocking her to the ground.

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A/N: Once again . . . I loooove reviews, flames included. And school has started, so updates might be coming a little slower. 


	6. Chapter 6

Her entire body screamed in agony and she shrieked in pain at the impact. Instantly Shi backed off, sniffing her carefully and growling. He was breathing heavily, and sweat matted down his fur. She stayed deathly still as he sniffed at her ribs, and out of the corner of her eye she saw Dean raise the gun.

"Don't shoot him!" she gasped, and Shi looked up, grinning toothily, tongue lolling out. "Have to scare me like that?" she panted, still trying to get her breath back, and the big wolf got off her, licking her face worriedly as she sat up.

"This is the boyfriend?" Dean asked dubiously.

Shi growled. "He's not my boyfriend," Chandre replied, and her partner barked in agreement. He licked her face again and gave a low whine, then began to Change into a human, his muscles shifting. Chandre remembered the first time he had Changed, which thankfully hadn't been in front of her, or she would have freaked out, thinking that he was dying. Several seconds later he uncurled himself and stood, panting. Ignoring Dean and Sam for the moment, he crouched beside her.

"Good thing I got here in time, huh?" he grinned, and helped her stand up. She wanted to hug him, but he turned away, flicking his gaze towards Dean and Sam. "So these're the two Winchester boys."

"How'd you know that?" Sam asked, trying to keep his eyes riveted to Shi's face. Her partner grinned, recognizing his unease, and went over to Chandre's backpack, pulling out a pair of her jeans. Luckily they were around the same size, so he fit into them.

"Believe it or not, I spoke with your father."

"You met our dad?" Sam asked again. He sounded angry.

"He wanted to meet with the Ulfric. And you," Shi growled, turning to Chandre, "were supposed to wait until I came."

She rolled her eyes, trying to ignore her pain for the moment. Shi might be an Alpha male, but she wasn't submissive. "You didn't come after two days. Free reign to look."

He grumbled, but didn't argue, instead coming to her, wrapping his arms about her face and kissing the tip of her nose. She lifted her head and kissed him on the mouth. He shifted away after a couple of seconds, nuzzling her on the neck, holding her so tight she felt like she was going to explode or pass out. "You taste like puke and blood," he whispered, sounding worried, and kissed her on the neck while she buried her head in his shoulder, exhausted and grateful for the support.

The uncomfortable coughs behind them made Shi turn, although he kept his arm around tightly about her waist. "So, uh, we're good to go, right?" Dean asked. "Will the other werewolves attack us once you take her away?"

"No." It was Shi's turn to look uncomfortable, and Chandre glared at him until he looked at her guiltily. "Kiddo," he murmured, glancing down slightly, "it's not over yet."

"What do you mean? You beat that leader guy, right?" All she wanted to do was lie down and go back to sleep, but she kept her eyes open.

"Not a scratch on me," he smirked, and then became serious. "The Pack is in trouble. Hunters have been killing them off one by one, and the townspeople are getting suspicious."

"So? It doesn't concern us." He shifted his eyes away, and she groaned. "What did you do?"

"I, uh, I am the Ulfric," he muttered. "By rite of combat. And I kinda told them that I would take them to Canada."

"What!" she hissed. "Sh-Striker, it's usually _me_ who does stupid things like that! Where's the freaking 'voice of reason'?" The guys were looking really uncomfortable.

"Yeah, well, I'm bound a turn, right?" Shi asked. "And unlike you, I've thought this through. We're gonna head north, and travel towards the Yukon. There's a couple small towns that still have Were populations, and they can establish themselves there and I'll be free to hand over the kingship to someone else. They _need_ me to lead them."

"Okay, so let's get going. The sooner we start, the sooner we can go home." She wished that he didn't have a natural wall, because he looked even more uncomfortable.

"You're not coming." It was almost a whisper, and filled with regret, but she stared at him in shock. Before she could say anything, he sniffed, and asked, "Where are you hurt?"

"I-I'm fine," she stammered, but he was already starting to unbutton her coat and shirt, quickly down to her bra. His fingers burned against her cold skin, and she shivered as he ran them along the stitching, feeling slightly sick.

"We should just get going and let you two have s—reunite," Dean said.

"Stay right there," Shi snapped, and they froze. Dean looked pissed, and Sam irritable, but they both probably realized that Shi could call his wolves on them. Shi touched the stitches on her stomach, and swore softly. "Deep?" he asked, looking up at her.

"I'm not coming?" she asked, still angry and refusing to be deterred. She also didn't want him to figure out that she was hurt bad in other places too. And the entire forest was getting pretty blurry. "We're a team. A partnership. You don't just leave one stranded—"

"I'm not stranding you," Shi snapped. "The only reason I'm doing this is because I killed their leader and it's Code that I finish what he started. Do you think I like this? Especially with the werewolves wanting to tear you apart after you killed their siblings, you can't come. It would be instant death. The only reason they didn't kill you just now was because I have them all cowed, but they'll get over it pretty fucking quick. Maybe if you were healthy, but it's a fucking hazard."

She frowned, and he sighed. "Kiddo, we're a team."

"You know, I hate to break up the reunion and all, but we have to get going," Dean said. "Hit the road and all that. Nice meeting you, Scarlet, uh, Striker—"

"Take her with you," Shi said.

"Pardon me?" Chandre chorused with the boys. "I don't think so," Sam said, shaking his head, and Dean just stared, head tipped back a little.

"You're not blowing me off like this," Chandre growled, but she almost fell down, and her vision started blacking.

He turned towards her. "You can either go with them unconscious or on your feet," he replied. To the boys, he said, "Your dad thought it was a good idea to have an extra gun handy."

"You planned this with my dad?" Dean asked.

"Not really. He mentioned it, and I think it's a good idea." Chandre wavered, and he caught her as her vision started to black. "Kiddo?" he whispered, and she shook her head at him, but the exertion of the past couple of days were stressing her wounds, and she felt herself slipping away. "Kiddo?" he whispered again, slowly sinking to the ground. Dean and Sam hurried quickly over to give whatever medical assistance might be needed, but she was falling away.

Peeling her eyes open with a will of effort as she was sucked under, Chandre glared at her partner, and slammed her fist into his startled face before her energy left her and she collapsed with a gasped, "Fuck . . . you."

Shi stared down at her, ignoring the throbbing on his left cheek as he tenderly stroked her hair.

"Oh yeah, you're reeeal close," Dean quipped.

Shi leaned forwards, almost pressing his forehead against hers, and whispered, wishing she could hear him, "Do you think I waited four fucking years for you to come around to me just to let you go?" She didn't move, but at least her breath wasn't wavering and her heartbeat throbbed steadily, if weakly, in her chest. She looked younger when she was sleeping, or knocked out in this case, and helpless. His heart swelled, but he had to leave her. It would be the longest they had been apart since they had gotten together in a partnership, since he didn't think that he would finish taking the Pack to Canada in a month. Maybe four months, but he wished she could come.

Looking up at the boys, he closed his eyes and stood, her light in his arms. Dean stood up first, and he gently placed Chandre in his arms. Leaning forwards, he growled, "You fucking touch her and I'll rip your arms off." He was slightly disappointed to find that he was right on height with the older man, and Sam, who was just a little younger than him, was taller by a couple of inches. A slightly demoralizing blow, but he knew he could beat the pulp out of them.

"Yeah, right," Dean said. Shi bared his teeth and growled again, warningly, already moving away from them.

"Wait a sec—how long are you going to be?" Sam asked. "And what if she gets hurt?"

Shi barked a laugh. "She can take care of herself. J-Just sleep with her, okay?" His voice cracked, and they stared. "Don't fucking touch her, but she can't sleep alone." Feeling that he was losing his sense of control, and her, he backed away, his ears already listening to the steady chorus of howls several miles away. The Change rippled over him, and he darted over, moving fast as Dean jerked back, and his lips brushed against Chandre's forehead before he melted into the forest, tossing her jeans at the boys' feet before disappearing finally into the woods.

"A real gem," Dean drawled sarcastically, and Sam glared at him. "C'mon Sammy, let's her out of here."

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A/N: Well, that's the end. I'm thinking of doing a sequel, but all depends on reviews. Then again, I've heard that OFC stories are highly annoying and boring, although I can assure everyone that there will be no romance between Chandre and the Winchester boys (a potential bummer, but hey, she's loyal). Anyhow, hoped you enjoyed the story, and let me know if I should continue! 


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